31

"This is not one of my finer moments."

Annie sat on her knees in front of the toilet, propped up on one side by the old claw-foot bathtub. She felt like a withering husk, too drained for anything deeper than cursory embarrassment. "So much for my image as a lush."

"Did you get a look at the driver?" Fourcade asked, leaning a shoulder against the door frame.

"Just a glimpse. I think he was wearing a ski mask. It was dark. It was raining. Everything happened so fast. God," she complained in disgust. "I sound like every vic I've ever rolled my eyes at."

"Tags?"

She shook her head. "I was too busy trying to keep my ass out of the swamp.

"I don't know," she murmured. "I thought Renard staged the shooting just to get me over there, but maybe not. Maybe whoever took that shot hung around, watched the cops, watched me come and go."

"Why go after you? Why not wait 'til you're gone and take another crack at Renard?"

The answer might have made her throw up again if she hadn't already emptied her system. If the assailant was after Renard, it made no sense to go after her.

"You're probably right about the shooting," he said. "Renard, he wanted an excuse to call you. That story he gave you is lame as a three-legged dog."

Annie pulled herself up to sit on the edge of the tub. "If that's true, then Cadillac Man was there for one reason-me. He had to have followed me over there."

She looked up at Fourcade as he came into the room, half hoping he would tell her no just to ease her worry. He didn't, wouldn't, wasn't that kind of man. The facts were the facts, he would see no purpose in padding the truth to soften the blows.

With a dubious look he pulled the towel away from the ceramic grasping hand that stuck out from the wall and soaked one end of it with cold tap water.

"You manage to piss people off, 'Toinette," he said, taking a seat on the closed toilet.

"I don't mean to."

"You have to realize that's a good thing. But you're not paying attention. You act first and think later."

"Look who's talking."

She pressed the cold cloth to one cheek, then the other. He looked concerned rather than contrite. She would have been better off with the latter. She was safer thinking of him as a mentor than pondering the meaning of these odd moments when he seemed to be something else.

"Me, I always think first, chère. My logic is occasionally flawed, that's all," he said. "How you doing? You okay?"

He leaned forward and pushed a strand of hair off her cheek. His knee brushed against her thigh, and in spite of everything Annie felt a subtle charge of electricity.

"Sure. I'm swell. Thanks."

She pushed to her feet and went to the sink to brush her teeth.

"So, who wants you dead?"

"I don't know," she mumbled through a mouthful of foam.

"Sure you do. You just haven't put the pieces together yet."

She spat in the sink and glared at him out the corner of her eye. "God, that's annoying."

"Who might want you dead? Use your head."

Annie wiped her mouth. "You know, unlike you, I don't have a past chock-full of psychopaths and thugs."

"Your past isn't the issue," he said, following her to the living room. "What about that deputy-Mullen?"

"Mullen wants me off the job. I can't believe he'd try to kill me."

"Push any man far enough, you don't know what he might do."

"Is that the voice of experience?" she said caustically, wanting to lash out at somebody. Maybe if she took a few swipes at him she would be able to reestablish the boundaries that had blurred last night.

She paced the length of the alligator coffee table, nervous energy rising in a new wave. "What about you, Nick? I got you arrested. You could go down for a felony. Maybe you don't think you've got anything to lose getting rid of the only witness."

"I don't own a Cadillac," he said, his face stony.

"I gotta figure if you'd try to kill somebody, you probably wouldn't have any moral problem with stealing a car."

"Stop it."

"Why? You want me to use my head. You want me to be objective."

"So use your head. I was here waiting for you."

"I came up the levee. It's slower going. You could have ditched the Caddy and beat it over here in your truck."

"You're pissing me off, Broussard."

"Yeah? Well, I guess I do that to people. It's probably a wonder someone didn't kill me a long time ago."

He caught hold of her arm, and Annie jerked out of his grasp, tears stinging her eyes.

"Don't touch me!" she snapped. "I never said you could touch me! I don't know what you want from me. I don't know why you dragged me into this-"

"I didn't drag you. We're partners."

"Oh, yeah? Well, partner, why don't you tell me again why you went to Renard's home Saturday? Were you scoping out a good sniper's vantage point?"

"You think I took that shot?" he said, incredulous. "If I wanted Renard dead, sugar, he'd be in hell by now."

"Yeah, I know. I kind of interrupted that send-off once already."

"C'est assez!" he ordered, catching hold of her by both arms this time, hauling her up close.

"What're you gonna do, Nick? Beat me up?"

"What the hell's the matter with you?" he demanded. "Why are you busting my balls here? I didn't touch Renard Saturday, I didn't take a shot at him tonight, and I sure as hell didn't try to kill you!"

He wanted to shake her, he wanted to kiss her, anger and sexual aggression bleeding together in a dangerous mix. He forced himself to stand her back from him and walk away.

"If we're partners, we're partners," he said. "That means trust. You have to trust me, 'Toinette. More than you trust a damn killer, for Christ's sake."

He was amazed at the words that had come out of his mouth. He had never wanted a partner on the job, he didn't waste time trusting people. He wasn't even sure why he was angry with her. Her argument was logical. Of course she should consider him a suspect.

Annie blew out a breath. "I don't know what to believe.

I don't know who to believe. I never thought this would be so damn hard! I feel like I'm lost in a house of mirrors. I feel like I'm drowning. Someone tried to kill me! That doesn't happen to me every day. I'm sorry if I'm not reacting like an old pro."

They stood across the length of the room from each other. Whether it was the distance or the moment, she looked small and fragile. Nick felt a strange stirring of compassion, and an unwelcome twinge of guilt. He had doubted her motives from the start, questioned the source of her interest in the Bichon case, when she was exactly what she appeared to be: a good cop who wanted to be better, who wanted to find justice for a victim. Simple and straightforward, no ulterior motives, no hidden agenda.

"It wasn't me, 'Toinette," he murmured, closing the distance between them. "I don't think you believe that it was. You just don't wanna think more than one person in this world might want you gone from it, out? You don't wanna dig in that hole, do you, chère?"

"No," she whispered as the fight drained out of her. She shut her eyes as if she could wish it all away. "God, the things I get myself into."

"You're in this case for good reason," he said. "It's your challenge, your obligation. You're in over your head, but you know how to swim-suck in a breath and start kicking."

"Right now, I'd rather climb out of the water, thanks anyway."

"No. Seek the truth, 'Toinette. In all things, seek the truth. In the case. In me. In yourself. You're not a child and you're nobody's pawn. You proved that when you stopped me from pounding Renard into the here-fucking-after. You're in this case because you want to be. You'll stick it out because you know you have to. Hang on. Hang tough."